


Secret

by Ellemae



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:13:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellemae/pseuds/Ellemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian is back. Robin has left her. Emma is to blame. And of course it is that very week when Regina realizes she is pregnant.</p><p> </p><p>Eventual Swanqueen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

i. It is not as though things have ever worked out in her favor. She lost the man she loved, married one she didn't. No one can say that she wanted that.

They say that she wanted the curse. She did of course, to a certain extent. She killed the one she loved the most. But that did not work in her favor either. Not really. If anyone had the advantage it was Rumple.

And now, now when she finally has accepted her lack of free will (for when has she ever had free will?) and trusted in fate, this is what happens. And she rarely if ever trusts.

Well, it seemed to work out at first.

It seems that fairy dust doesn't lie. Not much anyway. Not more than anyone or anything else she's ever met.

Her soulmate? Perhaps.

Regardless she opened her heart to him. And if she didn't love him yet she could have, she certainly could have.

He cared for her. At the very least she believes he somewhat cared for her.

Even now that he is back with his wife.

Trusting the Charmings had always been her downfall. Will always be her downfall.

And so it should have come as no surprise when Emma returned from her little soirée in the past with none other than Robin's wife.

What is a surprise is the stick she is currently staring at. The box tells her it is called a pregnancy test. And the box tells her these two little lines? They can only mean one thing.

She drops the test to the bathroom floor. Stares at it as though that will change the results. And then waves her hand lazily over it and barely blinks and it disappears.

She has never been in control before. Not really. Why should she have power now?

 

ii. Henry stays with her at least two nights a week.

Although it should just be her given right. Although her son, the son that she adopted, should be with her all the time.

Emma lets him stay out of guilt. Out of some odd idea that this is a way of making things right with Regina.

To allow her visitation with her own son.

Still, when have things ever been in control?

She has tried so very hard for so very long and she is tired. Especially now.

You would think Henry would be the first to notice. As she slips into the bathroom each morning and vomits as quietly as possible. As her stomach slowly begins to grow.

But apparently his ability to see the unexpected only covers curses and long lost mothers and fairy tales he wants so desperately to be true.

And this is no fairy tale.

She rarely leaves her home anymore for there is little point.

The Charmings have won. Or at least gained control.

And she is so very tired.

The pregnancy is taking things out of her. Exhausting her. And the knowledge that she will do this all alone?

She will not steal Roland's mother from him. Not when she thinks of Henry and Emma's arrival and her own heartbreak.

Years ago she would have been pleased with a baby. Of course she would have. She chose to adopt Henry after all.

She looks no older now than she was then. But she is. Oh she is. And the thought of sleepless nights fills her with dread.

Worse is the idea of giving this baby her love and having it implode once again.

And it's bound to for Regina has never gotten what she wants.

 

iii. She has the epitome of morning sickness.

She supposes she is lucky. She has the internet, a luxury she would never have had in the Enchanted Forest. There she would have relied on old wives and old wives tales and midwives and all of that would have accounted to idle gossip.

Here she has real medicine and hundreds upon thousands of first hand accounts and videos that make her slightly queasy.

Here she has true worst-case scenarios. Of birth defects and births gone wrong and miscarriages.

And she may not want this baby, not really, but she doesn’t want to lose her either. She cannot lose another child.

So she is careful with what she eats. Forcing herself to at least consume some food (even if really it is not enough and she has little appetite anymore thinking of being alone. Forever alone. And she is not gaining weight as rapidly as she ought to be. But she is, at least, gaining it). 

And she stops drinking her cider. Stops making it too, for what’s the point in having bottles upon bottles of something that no one will ever drink?.

She finds videos online that show her prenatal exercises and breathing for labor and she watches them carefully, mimicking what she can.

She will not trust Whale with someone else she loves.

So she doesn’t go to the doctor, doesn’t know the gender of this child, doesn’t know if she suffers from one of the thousands of afflictions that she reads about.

But how is that any different from what would have occurred had she gotten pregnant so many years ago? Certainly in the Enchanted Forest her care would have been no better.

She plans on a homebirth too.

And if she really thinks hard about it, she can admit that she is scared.

Of being alone.

Of doing this alone.

If she has learned one thing in the last year or so, it is that there is no point in dwelling on things she cannot change.


	2. Chapter 2

iv. She estimates that she is four months pregnant.

She is not showing much. Indeed she knows she should be showing more.

But food is such an effort.

It all is.

Still, she is showing.

And no one has noticed.

She assumes that if she was still with Robin he would have known by now.

An adult hugging her would clearly pick up on the fact.

A child hugging her might too, but she rarely receives outward affection from Henry anymore.

At least he says the right things now. “I love you.” But he is so very busy with his new family. 

Storybrooke is in a lull. They are staying here and have given up attempts to go back to the Enchanted Forest. They have fought Zelena, and in a sense they have won. 

Does suicide count as a win?

Regardless there is no great evil. Not anymore.

And so the town is in many ways like every other small town in America. Except they have magic.

 

v. Henry has a school play.

Correction, Henry is in a school play.

And it actually occurs to Emma to invite her.

Of course she has known that he is in a play. She is not so disconnected that she misses what is going on with her own son.

Still, she doesn’t receive a physical invitation. The school is acting as though Emma is his legal guardian. So does everyone else. If Regina didn’t have the adoption paperwork, carefully stored in a manila envelope in a fireproof safe in her office, she would assume that it was all a dream.

He is her son and he is not her son.

And he has performed his scenes for her, jumping up from the table ignoring the dinner she has carefully prepared, pushing the plate aside so that he can thump his script down on the table.

And she has offered him smiles in response to his antics. His performance is adequate, while hers is admirable.

They are doing Shakespeare. Twelfth Night. Modified of course. And Henry is Antonio. He is not so great an actor, not so great a comedian, that he can play Sebastian. Even if he insists that it is his right to be the lead since his family is royalty.

He is still entitled. But he is also still her son.

So she has watched him practice. She has sewed him a costume, pushing aside nausea to focus on tiny stitches, because it is not as though Emma is capable of sewing. 

Snow could she supposes, but she also knows Snow is busy with her baby. And any glimpse she gets of the child, which is rare considering how infrequently she leaves her house, any glimpse of that baby reminds her of her own fate.

For Snow looks exhausted. 

And she has help. A husband, a daughter, Regina’s own son. She has a whole town behind her.

Regina has nothing.

And all of this runs through her head in the 30 seconds after Emma knocks on her door and suggests she come to the play.

Emma looks uncomfortable, stares at Regina’s porch and scuffs it with her foot. Hesitant. “I know you’ve been kind of hiding out, I mean, not in a bad way. Just, I get it Regina. I know I hurt you but I can’t say I’m sorry anymore. You need to come to this play.”

And Regina bristles. Because how dare Emma give her orders? 

But she deflates almost instantly, because why shouldn’t Emma give her orders? 

“I was planning on it.”

She was. Maybe. 

“Okay,” Emma grins. “I figured they’d be too stupid to send you an invitation.” She hands over the one that she must have received in the mail.

And Regina accepts it. And she smiles for a moment because look at Emma, making fun of the townspeople. 

“Thank you,” Regina says softly. And then she starts to close her door.

It’s almost shut when Emma’s hand shoots out. She catches the door before it closes. “Wait, Regina! I thought that maybe, well,” she looks hesitant again. It is an odd look for Emma Swan. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Hang out?” Regina knows she sounds shocked and puzzled but, well, she is.

“Yeah, you know, just talk. Or not. We could watch TV. Or have lunch. Or,” Emma trails off and shrugs.

And Regina just stares at her.

“Okayyy,” Emma says when there isn’t a reply. “Maybe another time?”

Regina just stares at her and closes the door.

 

vi. You’d think that Emma would give up.

She doesn’t. Not exactly.

The day of the play she calls Regina’s home. And the ringing is so uncommon now that Regina startles. 

She finishes swishing the mouthwash in her mouth first. She walks to the phone briskly, stumbles momentarily, slightly dizzy after her stomach has emptied repeatedly.

Still, she thinks she sounds pretty normal when she answers. “Hello?”

“Hey Regina! You’re still going tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, awesome. Want to drive with me? I mean, I could pick you up. Or I know you hate my car so maybe I could park at your house and we could ride in your car. You know, so we can sit together.”

Regina is confused. Why would Emma want to sit with her? Surely she is sitting with her parents, and Regina is not part of that family unit. Has no desire to sit with them.

“I don’t really think that’s necessary, dear.”

“Oh.” And Emma’s disappointment is clear. And Regina doesn’t understand why.


	3. Chapter 3

vii. She manages to make it to the play, even though the baby is being quite terrible in her stomach. Kicking her adamantly and pushing on her bladder. 

Still, despite what they may say, Henry is her son too.

She doesn’t want nor need the attention that she’ll receive by making a scene. So she arrives 15 minutes early and then sits in her car as she watches the others enter.

Laughing and jostling and families and…she won’t allow it to upset her.

When it seems as though everyone else has entered. Indeed, when it is five minutes past the time when the play was supposed to begin, she leaves the safety of her car.

She sits in the very back of the auditorium. In a row that no one else would want to sit in. For though the play is proving popular, and is heavily attended, they are the worst seats in the house. Every other row is crowded, but not this one.

It is a far cry from even a year ago, when she would have pushed her way forward. Desperate to have the perfect seat to watch her son. Desperate to garner the respect she deserved as mayor.

Now she sits in the shadows, practically hidden from view. And she doubts they know she is there. She gets no thrill from the anonymity. Rather there is relief, relief that she does not have to deal with anyone.

The play is quite humorous she supposes. 

She has read Shakespeare of course. She has read this script too. And this forty-minute adaptation is not horrible.

Of course, her perspective is skewed because Henry is in it and she leans forward each time he is on stage, so that her swollen belly rests heavy on her thighs.

When it ends she stands before the applause is over and slips out as quietly as she came.

At least she can tell Henry that she liked his performance.

And she drives home and rests one hand on her stomach and ignores the fact that she feels like crying.

 

viii. “Where were you?”

“I’m sorry?” Regina’s mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton wool. She collapsed on the couch as soon as she arrived home, and the ringing of the phone startled her from sleep.

“You said you were coming to the play. Where were you?”

And of course it is Miss Swan. Who else would call?

“I was there.”

“Oh.” Emma no longer sounds antagonistic. “Where?”

Regina shrugs, even though Emma cannot see it. “I sat in the back.”

“Why?”

And Regina is so very tired. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just figured you’d want to be upfront. You know, the better to see you and all.”

Regina’s lips quirk up. “Wrong fairytale, dear.”

Emma chuckles. “Yeah. You’d make a lousy wolf.”

“But not a lousy Evil Queen.” Regina says dryly.

Emma ignores her and blunders on as she so often does. “Did you like the play?”

“It was…admirable.”

And Emma straight up laughs at that. And Regina can’t help that she smiles in response.

“Seriously Regina, they’re kids, I thought it was pretty damn good.”

Once upon a time Regina would have snapped at Emma for her language. But there’s no point any longer, Henry isn’t truly hers to raise, and this other baby will see little of Emma Swan. Little of anyone.

And she feels a twinge of sadness at that.

“Seriously Regina?”

“What?”

“You’re not even going to correct my language.”

“Why bother.” She is so very tired.

Emma sighs. And Regina gets the sense she is disappointed. “I’m coming for dinner tomorrow.”

“I’m busy.”

“Regina, you never leave the house. You’re not busy.”

“I don’t have enough food.”

“I’ll bring something from Granny’s.”

She’s tired and it doesn’t seem worth the fight. “Fine.”

 

x. She dresses carefully.

She’s not ready for Emma Swan to know. 

Not ready for anyone to know. But particularly not Emma Swan.

Emma will look at her with, she imagines, pity. 

Everyone else in the town won’t care. She’ll be treated with disgust, told she is a whore, like she is dirty, like it is something horrible that she deserves for what she did to them.

Emma will feel sorry for her.

That is far worse.

After the King she sometimes bore his marks, and as her handmaidens washed her they would glance at her with pity. 

And it burned far worse. The shame.

This baby is it for her. And now, six months in, she is beginning to care for it.

Of course she is. And it will hurt her in the end.

But what is done is done. She cares somewhat for this baby and she will not have the child viewed as though it is some shameful secret.

So she dresses carefully. Not in her normal tight-fitted professional dresses. Not in clothing that was designed to make people look and notice and respect her.

Instead she dresses in a slightly nicer version of what she has been wearing for weeks. 

A loose fitting empire-waist dress, and she thanks the heavens for her sewing skills and online maternity patterns and she brushes her hair carefully and double-checks her make-up and heads downstairs to wait.

She is still too slender, still not showing as much as she should. Still forcing herself to ingest what calories she can.

But now it is a blessing, for at least it means she is not one of those voluptuous pregnant women who glow with their babies inside them, whose pregnancy is instantly visible to all who see them. 

Perhaps this baby knows it needs to stay hidden.


	4. Chapter 4

xi. “Hi Regina!” Emma is like a puppy, bounding into Regina’s house the moment she enters the door.

And it is not the first time Regina has made such an analogy.

The Savior has a greasy paper bag clutched in her hand, and Regina internally sighs, for of course she would bring something that Regina has no interest in eating.

Still, when Emma grins widely at her she can’t help but give a smile in response.

“I’m starving! Can we eat right away?”

Regina shakes her head, for of course Emma is starving, but sees no point in fighting. Dinner is, after all, what Miss Swan is here for.

So she begins to walk to the table, Emma bouncing behind her.

“Would you like a drink?” She asks as she gestures Emma into an empty seat. A seat that is as far away from Regina as possible without seeming outwardly rude.

“What’ve you got?”

Regina furrows her brow at that. Does she have any wine in the house? Won’t Emma find it odd if she doesn’t drink?

Emma is watching her, face lined with concern. “Seriously, Regina, whatever. I don’t care.”

Regina clears her throat. “I have milk or juice or water?” She feels out of her element.

Emma offers her a smile, immediately revving back to her typical energy levels. “What kind fo juice?”

“Apple?”

Emma laughs. “Sure.”

When she returns carefully carrying the juice, and treading lightly so as not to arouse the Sheriff’s attention, she finds she need not have bothered.

Emma is fully focused on the food that she is unwrapping.

She has, of course, ordered herself a hamburger and fries. Regina is surprised to see a BLT on her own plate.

Emma shrugs. “I asked Ruby what you like. She said you get that sometimes on special occasions so I figured…”

Regina nods her thanks. “And is this a special occasion?”

Emma shrugs again. “Don’t know. It could be I guess. The start of us being friends?”

Regina startles, her eyebrow raised as she asks. “Friends?”

Emma pops a fry into her mouth and chews it as she quirks her head to one side. “Yeah? Maybe? I think so.”

“Maybe, dear.” Regina allows as she picks at her sandwich.

Maybe.

 

 

xiii. Emma, she decides, has some sort of sensor that allows her to call at the most inopportune times.

This time Regina’s bladder is near bursting, the baby using it as its own personal trampoline, and she really does not have time for a rambling conversation with Storybrooke’s own princess.

“…so you’ll come?” Emma releases the end of the conversation as though she’s almost out of air. Which she probably is.

“Yes. Goodbye.” Regina gets out as she practically drops the phone and jogs toward the bathroom.

She doesn’t know what she has agreed to until the next day, when Emma shows up at the crack of dawn. Henry bouncing behind her like some sort of junior puppy in training. Which makes sense because he is Emma’s child.

And Jesus, Emma should not show up before she’s had her coffee.

If she were still drinking coffee.

Basically, what is Emma thinking?

“Aww Mom,” Henry whines. And Regina assumes he is talking to Emma until she sees the glare directed her way. “Why aren’t you ready?”

She looks down at herself. Ready for what? She is actually, shockingly, dressed. Morning sickness waking her up at four a.m. and an insistent bladder refusing to let her fall back asleep.

“Emma said she asked you!” And he turns and gives Emma an identical glare.

“I did kid!” Emma rolls her eyes. “Maybe,’ and she frowns. “I thought I gave you a time? Did I?’’

Regina decides to blame this on Emma. She huffs and crosses her arms and doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll take that as a no. Okay, well, why don’t you go and put on something more suitable for fishing. We can wait.”

Fishing? She agreed to go fishing? That sounds like the worst idea in the universe. Especially mixed with pregnancy.

She opens her mouth to say that she can’t go, and is instantly faced with identical glares. “We’ll wait.” Henry exclaims, as he points her back toward her own house.

It’s much harder to fit into pants. Still, she thanks the heavens for magic as she waves a hand over an old pair of gardening slacks and the waistband widens.

She still needs to hide her rapidly growing bump. Seven months is not exactly easy to fake.

She finds an old jacket of Graham’s in the back of her closet. Upon sniffing it she decides it’s not too musty.

She pulls it on and is instantly enveloped in its warmth. And she’s reminded of being touched, of someone actually seeking out contact with her, and she swallows back a sob.

She heads down the front stairs while Emma grins up at it. “Let’s go!”

Of course they’re taking the pirate’s boat. Regina isn’t sure why her stomach clenches at the sight of him. Perhaps it is because he and Emma and Henry could be a family unit. A unit without her.

But she accepted that months ago.

Perhaps it is simply her nausea returning. The rolling of the boat is doing nothing to rest her uneasy stomach.

It is not until she has survived the boat ride, that they are back on shore and she has her mouth clenched to avoid vomiting from the overwhelming stench of fish, that Emma notices.

“Is that,” her face is wan. “Is that Graham’s jacket?”

Regina just shrugs while Emma looks sick and Henry looks disappointed.


	5. Chapter 5

xiv. She doesn’t hear from Emma for a long time.

She suspects the reminder of Graham was too much.

Still she cannot hide the past.

If, and it is quite a large if, there is ever a chance of her becoming friends with anyone they will need to be aware of her past.

And she knows more than most that the decisions she has made cannot and should not be taken lightly.

She has made excuses to avoid Henry the last couple of weeks.

Her son may not be the most observant about pregnancy, but even he would surely notice now.

She texts with Emma. It's a communication she enjoys because it's so very emotionless.

She suspects they are both making up excuses. And the combination of Emma not being sure that Regina should see Henry, and Regina wishing to keep him away for a while, well it combines nicely into an easy avoidance.

It's not that she cuts off communication with her son. She talks to him daily, and texts him often.

And that seems to be enough for him. He is so very busy, he has friends now that he is a prince, and sword fighting lessons, and he is learning how to ride a horse. And he tells her all about it.

And she wonders if their relationship is better from a distance.

Sometimes Regina daydreams that if she wasn't pregnant and if the shadow of Daniel didn't hang quite so heavy over her head, perhaps she would be happy teaching him to ride. They could be happy together at the stables.

But that's a pipe dream for more reasons than one.

So she contents herself with simple exercises and reading books and curling up in front of the television.

She may have been a force of nature once, but no longer.

And the weeks pass slowly but so quickly at the same time, her growing stomach a reminder that nothing stands still for long.

 

 

xv. The days are becoming monotonous when she receives a phone call.

Emma doesn’t even say hello, though really, there’s no need. No one else has called her for a long time. It’s either Emma or Henry. And Henry wouldn’t call her at 7 am.

"I need to talk to you. It's just, Regina," Emma pauses and it sounds suspiciously like she is crying. "Jesus, I knew who you were, you know? But in my head it was so far in the past, like fairy tales and shit, you know?"

Regina doesn't entirety know. But for once she's willing to excuse the foul language.

"Somehow with everything that happened so fast, like Neal and Neverland and...I forgot that you'd done bad things recently. I mean you almost gave me a poisoned turnover, our son almost died! And you did kill Graham, didn't you?"

And Regina quietly admits, "yes."

She hangs up the phone and stares at it blankly. But then the baby kicks, and she’s reminded that Emma Swan is the least of her worries.

Still, when she lies in bed at night she’s remembered of the time that Emma suggested they might become friends.

And she wonders what that would have been like.

Someone to trust? To tell her hopes and fears and dreams to? Not that she dreams much anymore. Still, it would be nice, she supposes, to share her fears. She has never truly done so before.

In all honesty, the last time she came close to trying something akin to friendship was with Tinkerbelle. And it’s fairly clear she ruined that completely. More than that, she hurt the other woman.

She has no desire to hurt Emma Swan. Not anymore.

She was raised separate from the village children, always designed to be royalty from the moment she took a breath and her mother proclaimed her ‘Regina’.

She has never had a friend. And, Regina assures herself, she doesn’t need one now.

 

 

xvi. After their phone conversation, it’s not as though Emma is instantly knocking on her door asking to be friends again. Perhaps Emma realizes that would be too much for her. She likes to imagine the other woman at least knows her that well.

What Emma does start doing is texting. A lot.

_What are you doing?_   She asks late one night when it should fairly obvious that Regina is in bed.

_Attempting to sleep._

_Attempting?!_

Regina sighs at that. Because despite the other woman’s truly horrific use of punctuation, and her obvious attempt at joking, if she truly was surprised it would be warranted. Regina’s never been the easiest sleeper, but falling asleep has never been a problem for her. Generally it was keeping the nightmares at bay that proved difficult. But now on top of that is the fact that she is horribly uncomfortable, regardless of how she lies down.

_Yes dear._

And her phone rings. She doesn’t even bother looking before she answers. “What Emma?” And normally she wouldn’t be so impolite but it’s late and, well, it’s Emma.

Emma chuckles. “It’s not like you’re sleeping.”

“Certainly not now.”

“I was thinking about when Henry used to sneak away to his castle.”

Regina can hear Emma’s smile.

Emma sighs, “he was so little then. So easy. And now…”

“Are you saying your son isn’t easy?”

“Our son.” Emma states softly.

Regina blinks back tears. “Are you complaining?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

Regina scoffs lightly. “In other words, you don’t know?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I wish I had been there for real, you know? Held him when he was a baby, and changed stinky diapers, and seen him screaming holy terror and cuddling and—“

Regina can tell that Emma is close to tears, and for some reason that idea is abhorrent to her.

“You did what was best at the time,” she says genuinely.

Emma chokes back tears. “You did a really good job. You know that, right Regina?”

Does she? Did she?

“You did.” Emma is insistent, as though it is of vital importance that Regina believes her.

Regina clears her throat awkwardly, and shifts so that she is leaning against her headboard. “Tell me about your day?”

Emma laughs. “Yeah, okay. Um, nothing much happened. I mean, nothing really happens anymore, you know?”

“Mmm.” Regina acknowledges as she begins to rub circles on her stomach.

“So the usual I guess. Made Henry eat a nutritious breakfast.” She pauses, clearly for Regina’s benefit.

Regina smiles sleepily. “Did you?”

“Yes!” Emma pauses again. “Cheerios count, right?”

“Yes dear.” Regina stifles a yawn.

“Ha! Then right, did the healthy breakfast thing. Then, um, well I went to work. On time obviously.”

And Regina smiles again.

“And then just had the normal cr—stuff happen. Like, there was this cat up a tree, he was this really bright orange color so at least we saw him right away and…”

Her eyes are feeling heavy, and she lets herself drift lower in the bed, resting her eyes for just a moment as she listens to the ebb and flow of Emma’s voice.


	6. Chapter 6

xvii. She hasn’t slept. At all. Which is the only excuse she can come up with when she thinks over her actions later.

She cannot get comfortable enough to sleep. No matter what she tries it is completely useless. So she has spent the night staring at the television, willing herself to fall asleep. Watching as the screen casts a blue glow over the empty living room, listening to the gentle patter of rain that is falling outside, and wondering when exactly she’ll deliver.

By her estimations, and the calculations of the Internet at large, she has approximately four weeks left. Maybe three. 

It’s not as though she is unaware of the exact date of conception. There is only one possible day, unless this is a magic baby.

And Regina scoffs at how ridiculous that notion is, for magic babies don’t exist.

This baby has a set due date. Assuming, of course, that he doesn’t arrive ridiculously early or ridiculously late.

The lack of sleep has almost worked in her favor, for Storybrooke shuts down at night, and she occasionally wanders into her backyard. 

She almost never goes outside anymore, though she spends plenty of time by her open upstairs window hoping that the sunlight will keep her healthy. 

Still, there is something different about physically being outside. About breathing in the cool night air and feeling the grass beneath her feet.

The point of all of this being that perhaps being alone has caused her to become a bit of a rambler. Her thoughts jumping barely coherently through her brain. 

It is not as though loneliness is a novelty to her. For almost as long as Regina can remember she has been lonely. But alone? She has almost never been alone.

As a child her mother spied on her, as a young bride guards watched her, as a queen staff watched her out of fear, and even as Mayor, she couldn’t take a step anywhere in the town without it being recorded by someone, somewhere.

There were always people. Not always wanted, but always present.

Now there is no one.

So she paces around her garden alone at night, and thinks ridiculous thoughts, and decides that this loneliness is no smaller or greater than what she has experienced before. It is just different.

She has read that near the end of the pregnancy it is almost impossible to sleep. And thus far her religious reading has not led her astray.

So she paces.

Alone.

 

xviii. It is the morning after just such a sleepness night, and she is very ready for this baby to come, despite the fact that science dictates it will stay in her at least another two weeks.

She cannot remember the last time she truly slept. 

So when the doorbell rings, she walks to the front door and answers it.

 

xix. Emma and Henry stand in front of her.

“What the fu—” Emma’s mouth gapes open, but she manages to cut off the swear just in time.

And Regina is quite pleased that Emma is learning to curb her tongue in front of her son.

“Regina, you’re….” Emma trails off and gazes somewhat stupidly at her. 

And Henry is staring at her blankly. 

So, all right, she may have overestimated his ability to know a pregnancy when he sees one. 

Which makes her slightly concerned about the state of education in Storybrooke and if she were still Mayor she would—

“Regina!” Emma hisses.

“Hmm?” She looks up at the blonde.

And finds herself face to face with an expression she can’t quite interpret, it appears to be equal parts frustration and surprise and, oddly enough, hurt.

And Regina glances briefly at Henry.

That seems to wake Emma up. 

“Right, um, Henry!” Emma taps her son on the shoulder. “Henry, will you go to Granny’s? Check on that pie for me?”

“Pie?” Regina’s brow furrows as she watches Henry dash off down the past. He has always relished his freedom.

And Emma’s shoulders droop. “Regina, don’t you know what day it is?”

Based on Emma’s reaction she’s sure she ought to.

Emma steps closer to her, but oddly enough Regina doesn’t feel as though her personal space is being invaded. “It’s, well according to Snow at least, today is your birthday.”

Regina blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” and Emma sighs. “But I think we might have more important things to talk about.” She reaches forward and rests her hand on Regina’s lower belly.

Regina gasps.

“Shit. Sorry!” Emma yanks her hand away as though it is burned.

“No, it’s just…” And Regina trails off. 

For what is she supposed to say? That she has gone so long without being touched that it felt alien, that she was startled by the simple action of another person’s hand? 

The last thing she wants to do is offend Emma.

“Go ahead,” she says and inclines her head toward her stomach.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to--” Emma’s words come out frantically.

And Regina offers a tiny smile, feeling it grow as Emma reaches out a tentative hand and strokes it against Regina’s stomach. 

Emma leans down and whispers to her stomach, “hello baby.” 

Then, still partially kneeling, she looks up at Regina. “We need to talk.”


	7. Chapter 7

xx. Henry is gone and Emma is still staring at her.

Regina sighs. "You might as well come in then."

And she spins on her heel, or rather her best approximation of doing so nowadays, and heads briskly toward the living room.

And after a brief pause she hears Emma trotting behind her.

Once they're sitting, facing each other in much the same way they were the night they first met, Emma leans forward cautiously, and Regina can feel every time Emma's eyes flick to her stomach.

"Regina," Emma breathes.

"I don't wish to talk about her."

Because she does not and she does and she does not.

"Her?"

"I've, well," Regina feels her cheeks grow hot.

"You've what?" Emma asks.

"I've been thinking of the baby as a girl," she says in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Oh good! You do know you're pregnant!"

Regina looks up to offer Emma a glare and sees the other woman smirking back at her.

Then Emma's smile softens. "A girl would be nice."

 

 

xxi. Henry returns moments later out of breath and panting, his face red with the exertion.

And okay, that means he ran, but it also means Emma and Regina have been sitting in silence far longer than either realized.

And neither is sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Mom," Henry pants out, waving the box energetically in the air.

And because of who she is Regina grouses, "careful with the pie! I'm assuming none of us favor it crushed."

She ignores the fact that Emma and Henry exchange smirks and instead focuses on setting the table.

As she reaches for a plate she feels a sharp twinge in her lower back and she cannot help but gasp.

Which is odd really because her whole life has been about pain.

And of course Emma notices.

She watches Regina carefully as they begin to eat the pie, as Henry rambles about nothing

still somehow ignoring or clueless of his mother's pregnancy or perhaps, Regina swallows hard at the thought, not caring enough to acknowledge it

and Regina keeps the mask on as her back continues to stab

and ignores the way Emma's brow furrows as she watches her.

Perhaps Henry has the right idea, and ignorance is bliss.

 

 

xxii. After dinner Emma shoos Henry home, and Regina swallows hard at the word.

Henry leaves the mansion because he promised David and some of his new friends that he'd go horseback riding.

And Regina and Emma are alone again.

"Come on," Emma says, inclining her head in a gesture that says follow me, and heading back to the living room.

And this time it is Regina who follows.

"Sit," Emma pats the seat next to her.

And Regina does for she is exhausted, has not done so much in weeks.

And her back hurts.

Emma slides her hand across Regina's back and she stiffens in response.

"Oh hush," Emma murmurs even though Regina hadn't said anything. "This will help, I promise."

And Regina reluctantly allows it to continue.

Emma's hand dipping into the small of her back with firm strokes.

"Close your eyes," Emma encourages.

And Regina offers her a look in response.

Emma rolls her eyes and removes her hand. "Now, Regina."

And Regina isn't quite sure why she capitulates so easily except that the feel of Emma's hand on her back wasn't the worst thing ever.

Most people enjoy back rubs, do they not?

So she closes her eyes and she can basically sense Emma's smirk.

"You hush," she says grouchily.

And Emma chuckles.

But then Emma's hand is there again, soothing somehow, and she cannot help but release a sigh.

"I can't imagine," Emma says softly, haltingly. "Keeping this a secret."

And Regina doesn't answer, but she can feel tears forming behind her closed eyes.

"You could have told me, you know," Emma sounds upset.

And Regina doesn't know.

"I wouldn't have made you do anything you didn't want to do. I wouldn't have talked you into anything. But I would have talked, if you wanted. You must be what?"

And there's a long pause as though Emma's waiting for an answer, even though she really shouldn't expect to get one.

Maybe she's just slow at math.

"Eight months or so?"

Regina keeps her eyes closed but acknowledges that with a tilt of her head.

"Almost nine," she says, so quietly it's almost swallowed by the air.

"Fuck." Emma mutters. And her hand presses hard against Regina's spine.

"Shit!" She immediately strokes the same area. "Sorry, it's just that means you found out right around when I ruined everything and Jesus Regina I'm so fucking sorry I can't..."

Emma removes her hands and Regina opens her eyes.

Turning around to face the younger woman she finds her face splotchy, big tears rolling down her cheeks and she wonders how long she has been crying.

She does a marvelous job of hiding her tears.

And Regina should know. She's an expert.

"Emma," she exhales.

She scoots closer to the other woman and reaches out a tentative hand, resting it on Miss Swan's upper arm.

And Emma scrambles closer to her in response and before she knows it she is wrapped in the other woman's arms, Emma's tears dampening her shoulder.

And she feels the baby kick frantically.

Apparently as startled as she is to be close to another body.

"Sorry. Again." Emma mumbles into Regina's shoulder. "I'm sorry for all of it."

"I know, dear." Regina says softly, placing one hand carefully oh so carefully on Emma's back.

Emma shows no inclination for moving, apparently having decided that this is a perfectly comfortable position.

Regina, with her swollen stomach and aching back, isn't so sure, but there's something about this position that makes her feel.

Feel cared for, feel somehow safe.

Even if she's the one holding Emma.

She's never had that before.

Finally

Or perhaps not so finally

Emma pulls away.

Still, she stays close to Regina, their thighs brushing together as she leans forward, attentive once more.

"When did you find out?"

"The day Marian came back."

"Shit."

There's a long pause, and it goes on for such a long time that Regina almost considers breaking it.

"Is that why you hate me?"

Emma's voice is tiny, and she is staring hard at the pattern on the rug.

And Regina can suddenly see the foster child she must have been.

"No." She says definitively. For of that at least she is sure.

"No?" And Emma is crying silent tears again. "But I ruined your happy ending. I, I took your baby's father away. You're all alone."

And Regina's stomach sinks.

Of course she is, she is always alone.

"Yes." And she looks at the blonde again, face still splotchy with tears. And someone should get some relief. "But it's not your fault."


	8. Chapter 8

xxiii. It is quiet for far too long, Emma's sniffles the only sound to be heard.  
  
And then Emma offers her a self-deprecating grin and it is completely silent.  
  
And for some reason for once Regina cannot stand it. It is silent when she is alone, must it be silent when she has company too?  
  
So she breaks it.  
  
"I have always been alone."  
  
And Emma startles.  
  
Then the blonde glances her way. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I suppose," Regina twists her hands together and stares downward. "I've just always felt alone. Growing up I never really had anyone to talk to until I had Daniel and then," she chuckles harshly. "Well, you know."  
  
Emma frowns. "Actually I don't, not really. And I'd like to," at Regina's face she quickly adjusts, "later. But I think I get what you mean."  
  
And Regina looks up in surprise, meeting Emma's steady gaze.  
  
"Come on, Regina, seriously." Emma rolls her eyes.  
  
And Regina's lips quirk upward.  
  
"You know I was a foster kid. So who would I have talked to? I mean really told secrets to?"  
  
Emma doesn't seem to expect a verbal answer so Regina doesn't give one.  
  
Instead they both stare at each other, silent once more.  
  
But somehow it feels less.  
  
"We're just." Emma shrugs. "We're like two peas in a pod, huh?"  
  
Regina raises an eyebrow.  
  
"It's an expression Regina."  
  
And if Regina twitches it is not because Emma's hand has slipped back behind her, it is certainly not because said hand is rubbing small circles, and it is completely not because Emma is hesitantly but firmly shifting toward her.  
  
"You and I Regina, we're birds of a feather. And you know how that saying ends."  
  
"Honestly dear, what is going on with all these sayings? And no, I do not know how that one ends."  
  
"Oh." Emma looks embarrassed, perhaps at the concept of saying what she truly means out loud. Or perhaps merely because even she realizes she's overusing these generalized statements so as to avoid personal conversation.  
  
"Birds of a feather stick together. So you and me Regina? We're gonna do that."  
  
Regina stills looks puzzled and Emma rolls her eyes.  
  
She is now so close that they are firmly pressed against each other and it takes almost no effort for Emma to slide her arm around Regina and tug her into a loose hug.  
  
Then Emma whispers in Regina's ear. "It's means you're not alone."

 

xxiv. It is much later, once the sky is dark, that Regina realizes Emma was quite literally telling the truth.  
  
They are both sitting on the couch in the living room, Regina rather stiffly because all positions hurt and any movement causes her back to twinge.  
  
Emma is still present, sprawled on the other half of the sofa, a plate that previously boasted a third piece of pie and is now essentially crumbs balanced on her stomach.  
  
They're watching some movie and if you asked Regina the name or the plot she wouldn't have the slightest idea.  
  
She has, as Henry phrases it, zoned out.  
  
So when Emma grunts and shifts upward, barely catching her empty plate before she shuffles toward the TV Regina startles.  
  
"I love that movie," Emma grins.  
  
"It was...satisfactory I suppose."  
  
"High praise." Emma's smile remains.  
  
Regina coughs and then grimaces at the pain it causes.  
  
"Hey," the smile slips from Emma's face. "Okay?"  
  
"Fine dear."  
  
"Really?"  
  
And it is something about the genuine concern in Emma's face that makes Regina want to tell the truth.  
  
"Really. Just a little sore."  
  
"I guess that's okay. I mean I was sore a lot when I was pregnant." Emma crinkles her nose. "Then again I was also in prison so the less than stellar accommodations may have had something to do with it. I still can't believe you're pregnant."  
  
There's an awkward silence after that.  
  
"Hey!" Emma brightens. "Do you have any fun pregnancy stories? Any weird food cravings?"  
  
"No." Regina states.  
  
She may be trying out this honesty thing, but that doesn't mean she has to admit that she has been through far more pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream than she cares to admit. Nor that her freezer is full of said ice cream because she's never had someone to send on late night grocery store runs for her and relying on oneself apparently means a freezer full of ice cream because you never know when a craving might strike.  
  
Emma seems to see through her anyway. "Uh huh. Well you can tell me later. Now it's time for bed."  
  
And Emma reaches out a hand as though she expects Regina to take it.  
  
And when Regina doesn't and just stares at it blankly she shrugs.  
  
Emma's hand drops next to her side and Regina watches it fall somewhat sadly.  
  
And almost misses the fact that Emma is now walking up her stairs.  
  
"Miss Swan," she shouts after her. "Just where do you think you're going?"

 

xxv. Apparently Emma is taking that corny saying about birds and feathers very seriously.

She insists on staying in the guest room and won't take no for an answer.  
  
And Regina well, she has admitted the fact to herself twice already this evening: she is too tired. Too tired to argue.  
  
And as she lies in bed she has to admit to herself. This is not the the worst thing that has ever happened.  
  
Just knowing that someone else is in the house.  
  
Knowing, and she is loathe to admit this to herself, that Emma is in the house, makes her feel safer.  
  
And how apropos to the rest of her life that the woman who ruined hers is now her salvation?

 

xxvi. There are screams.

Loud and anxious and echoing through the house.

And as Regina startles awake she is shocked to find that she is making them.

These noises that sound like a wounded animal.

Emma runs into her room and is beside the bed almost before Regina has realized that she is the one making the hideous noise.

Emma looks panicked. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Her hands are reaching out frantically, hovering over Regina but not touching.

"Fine." Regina manages. Forcing her breathing to become steady. "I--I don't know. I'm fine."

But then there is pain.

And the sharp pain triggers memories of other sharp pains and she gasps, her vision fading into pinpricks and her disjointed breathing increases.

"Regina?" She hears faintly. "Regina?" She feels a hand on her knee and she blinks, trying to regain some focus to assess the threat.

Blonde hair and green eyes swim into view.

"Regina," Emma sighs softly. "You're okay. Look at me, I'm right here, see? Can you feel how I'm breathing?"

And somehow, she's not quite sure how, her own hand is maneuvered onto Emma's chest. Palm flat below Emma's breast.

"See how I'm breathing?" Emma's voice is slow and calm.

And that more than anything causes the terror to lessen.

"That's better," Emma murmurs and she gives Regina an encouraging grin.

"Hurts," Regina grunts out between sharp pants.

Emma shifts closer to her and all Regina can do is stare at those green eyes, focusing on them to try and get past whatever this horrible punishment is.

She deserves this, she does. This pain is little compared to the pain she has caused.

Still it hurts.

Somehow Emma's hand is in her hair, stroking it off her sweaty forehead.

"Regina," Emma says cautiously.

And Regina tries to turn and acknowledge her but the pain is too high and all she can manage is a slight grunt.

"You know, um, you realize this is labor? I mean, you're having the baby."


End file.
